


Hopeless loser accidentally uses gay criminal as muse, and shenanigans ensue: the novel

by WaffleB0t



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Omg it's trash, i can't write smut so get wrecked lmao, just enjoy this so I can die, ugg here's the gay lmao, why did i do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaffleB0t/pseuds/WaffleB0t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>only just standing near him, she could smell kerosene and cigarettes from his leather jacket; and his hair smelled like soap. </p><p>Literally what happens when I get bored at work mixed with a really great au by satan (cherry bones). You can find the fic at their ao3 Satan (cherry bones) and other au junk is at satansprettyprose.tumblr.com/tagged/undercover-au<br/>Thanks and enjoy u memes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the beginning of the end (sorta)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satan (Cherry Bones)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Satan+%28Cherry+Bones%29).



The Beginning of the End (Sorta)

Daily rituals. Lock the door on your way out, double check before you go. No car; everything’s too expensive right now, especially gas. Four blocks of walking, paranoid that someone will come up behind you and press a knife or gun to your side and demand your bag. It’s happened before. they were the ones that ended up bleeding out in an alley way though, it was a shame that happened. you got blood all over your work clothes and had to go back to your apartment and change. you do know how to defend yourself, it’s really not rocket science people.  
Make it to the subway station okay. Rush hour. Hordes of suits, school uniforms, and business casual. Most of the latter are plainclothes cops though. The police are everywhere now, but ultimately, they don't do shit. The Gangs and the sheer amount of criminal activity overwhelms them.  
Taps and beeps of subway fare cards. The staccato off beat rhythms of hundreds of footsteps. It counterbalances the silence of your existence, your steps make little to no noise naturally. The noise is suffocating and so the earbuds go in. The music turns the dreary day and ugly station into a symphony. Sight becomes everything as your hearing is overtaken, allowing your view to brighten; broaden even. Down flights of stairs, wait. The notebook comes out, ready to warm up before the articles and entries of today's blood soaked news. How many obituaries will Elise have to write today? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.


	2. The Mystery Man

A man stands against the wall. Stock still, observing. You don't know why he catches your focus but it's mesmerizing now. The stillness in this world of movement and bustle. To be honest, you can't even see him breathe. The most obvious movement is the blinking of blue eyes, so vivid yet cruel and apathetic. The shaky fluorescent lights catch the chrome piercings scattered across his face and ears. The amount that he has makes your double pierced ears feel insignificant.   
Just so he doesn't catch you staring, you start writing in the notebook you pulled out earlier. You begin to write. The man by the wall is fresh in your mind. You have a new muse it seems. Whoops.   
Two pages. Four and one fourths pages. Six. Ten. Ten and three fourths pages about the man standing still in a subway station at rush hour.   
Four pages are on his physical appearance alone. (Sandy blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail, broad shoulders, wide chest that slims down to a narrow waist, honestly you could go on.) the genetic lottery had gifted him with perfectly symmetrical features. Lucky prick.   
The next six pages go by fast. Three are just for the way he stands. (arms crossed, shoulders back, proud yet ready to defend.) the other three are for the way he looks at people as they pass.(scanning, analyzing for weaknesses, and brutally disassembling them all at once.) the last three quarters page is a quick sketch of your new muse. Taking a picture would be too conspicuous. Thank god you're a decent artist.   
Your wrist really hurts now and putting away your notebook you shake out your writing hand.   
A train pulls into the station. Not yours. People spill out, going out and onwards to their lives. Two young men are making such a scene you can hear the shorter ones shouts through earphones and music. One is a tall and lanky peroxide blond wearing too much gold. The spiky quiff that rises nearly three inches into the air, is painstakingly manicured into what looks like a birds nest. He is laughing, and golden sunglasses nearly slip off a too large nose. The other man is short and stocky. His thick red brows are furrowed in anger, yet a smile plays across his lips. The yelling man’s copper curls cut a bright path towards the blond sentry by the wall.  
As the young men (the blond one is Golden Boy and the shorter one in the leather jacket is Rage.), approach Punk Adonis (You don't actually know what their names are so you’ve got an excuse now.); he smiles, and a lighting flash of realization and recognition shoots through you; you’ve seen him before, maybe in your office. Probably in a framed newspaper clipping or something, because those are everywhere.   
Before you even have time to think about who Punk Adonis might be, he nods in your direction and laughs while saying something. Danm, you wish you could read lips. Golden-Boy and Rage turn to look at you. Rage’s scowl deepens and Golden Boy stopped smiling. From between the younger men’s heads, Punk Adonis was smirking. On a scale from 1 to 10 you’re fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so short.  
> got anything to say? Wanna complain about life? wanna fuck skeletons? idk its your kink..... hmu at witchywaffle.tumblr.com please im very lonley here. lmao bye


	3. Escape Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! Your Sneaking Ability Has Leveled Up! You Are Now At Level 3: Escape Artist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild trigger for description of a panic attack lmao sorry

As Punk Adonis continues talking about probably you, the younger men seem to bristle at each word the slightly taller man utters. Rage toys with the zipper of his leather jacket and finally decides to slip his hand into his jacket. Stiffening, you think that this is the universal sign of I have a gun and I might try and shoot you. Punk Adonis finishes explaining with a grin and an awkward shrug, and a protective jealousy radiates off the younger men.   
Before you have time to think about how dumb this situation is, they start walking in your direction. The gun is out of Rage’s jacket and in his hands, and the sleek chrome barrel glints menacingly. Seeing the gun is what really sets you into panic mode. Shutting down, the only thing you can think is get away. And you do, dashing towards the subway that is your ticket out of this mess.   
Thankfully, you’ve been edging towards the edge of the platform as the men you are now sure are criminals of some kind were talking and now you're only a few steps away from the doors to your salvation. (After this was over, you thanked your parents genes for long legs.)   
As the subway begins to move, Rage shoots the wall of the subway a few times just to be a jackass.   
Falling into your seat, dizzy and hands shaking like a leaf; and to add insult to injury, having had nothing but a cup of shitty coffee with too much sugar heightens the panic attack’s symptoms. The panic attack that just hit you like a fucking train, you add.   
Curl into a tight ball, shielding your eyes from the harsh lights of the car. You’re hyperventilating, breath coming in sharp wheezes that after every attack you think sounded like an old squeaky toy. Your chest is tight and it feels like metal bands are wrapped around it, winding tighter. Also, your fingers and feet are falling asleep because of the way you're curled up.   
Other passengers are looking at you and are wondering amongst themselves what those noises were. They were obviously gunshots, but you aren't quite able to speak yet.   
This is the first panic attack you've had in months and you can feel yourself slip out, into a odd disassociated state. Static invades your mind and you feel weightless, gently rocked by the subway’s movement.  
You stay like that until the chiming announcement of your stop pulls you back into your body. Your tanned, too large hands still shake, but you can pass as okay now.   
Completely unfurling, your knees crack and your ankles are rolled around a few times as you really try to walk normally.   
You start to climb the stairs towards the gloomy but albeit brighter day compared to the underground stations; preparing yourself to face the rest of you day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahaha this is gonna take forever to update again lmao  
> 4 might take a bit sorry anyways l mao by e

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the short chapter. i have a few more chapters already written that i'll post in the next few day yyee  
> and if you gots anything to say about this and life in general, jut hmu at witchywaffle.tumblr.com it's where i spend most of my time anyways lmao bye


End file.
